I managed to nod off before 1am last night. A podcast will usually do the trick though it does mean waking up shortly afterwards irritated by that single ear phone embedded in an ear. Back in the mid-noughties, listening through the night to podcasts, new of course back then, was a real pleasure. Now it’s a little frustrating because I know I’m going to doze off before I get to the end of that show, no matter how hard I concentrate. Plus of course, there are the inevitable ads and plugs for other (often bland) shows to skip through.
Around 10:00hrs I’m heading out for a run around the park. The usual 5-6k nonsense. I’ll be going through my set for Sunday night’s show. I’m doing a Gong show. These can be hostile. The last two certainly were. Hey, what doesn’t kill you, etc…
Right now, I’m more worried about running in this cold. If someone told me I was living forever, the first thing that I drop is the running. I just hate it. It’s so unpleasant, especially in winter, and in the last year, I’ve made the run easier by forsaking the old steep climbs I was doing in this hilly park for three years. I’ve basically dumbed the run down and I’ve gone from running, at my peak, 20ks, to just 5ks. I’m not even sure I feel the positive afterglow after a run at the moment, just a sharp relief my least favourite pastime is out of the way for the day.
I had a dream a few nights ago, he began without a segue, involving my late dad. We met in a park. This makes sense as my dad, unlike me, loved parks. Me, I just think they are the dirtiest places you can possibly find. You never know what lurks beneath the grass. Well, you do actually. That’s the problem. And yet we accept it. Dog poop bags are pointless. As my favourite Clapham blogger once wrote, I’m paraphrasing here, “No one’s jet washing that point of contact on the soil once the muck has been picked up”. I just can’t get my head around and never will, that we live like this. That we accept this.
I arrived for this dream meeting with my dad wearing a white Stetson. Now this was my dad’s favourite hat. He couldn’t watch an episode of Dallas without remarking on JR’s fantastic Stetsons. When I was four, in deepest southern Spain once summer, I won a white plastic Stetson at a fairground. It was never the most comfortable of hats, but my dad loved me wearing it. The problem was, I was still sometimes having to wear it five or six years later, which can’t have been good for my skull, especially given that at that age you’re still growing.
I felt uncomfortable in the dream. Indeed, I actually woke up with a dream-Stetson induced headache. At one point, as my dad and I got into it, I remember asking him if we could relocate, only I’d spotted dog muck within a couple of metres of our exchange. My dad felt I was being delicate, but really, why have any conversation take place within sight of such a visual?
There’s nowhere else to go with this dream retelling, as I don’t recall anything that happened afterwards. And besides, I need to get this run over and done with this morning.
It’s another messed up day today which so far has involved me having to install Google Meets on my phone. As soon as that meeting is over this afternoon, that s*** gets uninstalled.
Twitter: @1607WestEgg
FB: @DRTcomedy
Instagram: @1607westegg
TikTok: @1607WestEgg